The Court of Miracles
by CaroH
Summary: Porthos past comes back to haunt him when Aramis disappears.
1. Chapter 1

**The Court of Miracles**

**Chapter One**

"Monsieur Aramis. Monsieur Aramis."

The frantic calls were accompanied by heavy blows to the door. Aramis surfaced from a deep sleep, his sense of self-preservation sending his hand to grasp the knife that always lay beside his bed. He sat up, running a hand through his disordered hair. "What do you want?" he shouted.

"It's about Porthos."

Aramis immediately leapt from the bed and unlatched the door. The man standing outside was a stranger. "What's happened?" He led the way back into his room and began to dress.

"He's hurt and sent to tell you that he needs help."

He quickly wrapped the blue sash around his waist and buckled on his sword belt. "We need to get Athos and d'Artagnan."

"There isn't time. It's bad, Monsieur."

"Where is he?" He put on his hat and gloves, trying to still the fast-paced beat of his heart.

"I'll take you to him. It isn't far."

Aramis followed the man out of the garrison and into the empty streets. He knew Paris intimately but was soon led into a maze of alleyways that he didn't recognise. "How did he get hurt?" he asked as they hurried along.

"I don't know."

"Wait." Aramis grabbed onto the man's arm. "What's your involvement in this?"

"I just did as I was told. I'm sorry." The man twisted free and ran into the darkness.

"Wait. Where's Porthos?" Aramis called frantically.

"Sleeping off a hangover with some whore."

The new voice startled Aramis and he reached for his sword. There was a rush of footsteps and he found himself surrounded by half a dozen heavily armed men. He moved his hand away from his weapon and held it up to show he wasn't looking for trouble. "What's going on?"

"You're coming with us." The leader of his assailants was tall and lanky with a scar down one side of his face and a hungry look in his eyes.

"I don't think so."

"You're outnumbered and I don't much care if you come peaceably or not." The man moved closer and drew his knife. With the weapon pointed unwaveringly at his throat Aramis decided that it would be futile to resist. He stood quietly while he was disarmed and bound.

"You are making a mistake," he said. "I am a King's Musketeer. My friends will find me."

"We're counting on that. Now, shut up."

The order was accompanied by a blow to the side of his head. He staggered, only saved from falling by a firm grip on his arms.

"What do you want with me?" he asked once the ringing in his ears subsided.

"Keep your mouth shut or I'll have you gagged."

The leader of the ruffians appeared to have a very short temper. He noted that for future reference. "That won't be necessary." He lapsed into silence, trying to work out why he had been targeted. The story about Porthos had been nothing more than a ruse to lure him out so this was no random attack.

He was at a severe disadvantage and it was late enough that there were no people on the street to witness his abduction. His one crumb of comfort was that they hadn't killed him outright which meant that he had some value to them. A hood was placed over his head, disorienting him. Sounds became muffled and, without his eyes to guide him, he had no idea where they were taking him. He was pulled forward a few paces before he was hoisted into a wagon. Lying on his stomach with his breathing constricted by the material over his face was unpleasant. Something heavy was draped over him before the wagon lurched as someone else got in. A boot connected with his spine, holding him down. It became even harder to catch his breath. With a creak of the wheels the wagon began to move, taking him into the unknown.

TMTMTM

It was a beautiful spring morning when the Musketeers gathered in the yard to eat breakfast. Athos joined Porthos and d'Artagnan with orders from Treville. "We've had reports of a group of bandits robbing travellers on the outskirts of Fontainebleau forest. The Captain wants us to check it out."

"Nice day for a ride," Porthos said, cutting a slice of cheese.

"Why send us?" d'Artagnan asked.

"Treville seems to think it would be a good idea if we left Paris for a few days. Apparently he's heard of our recent differences of opinion with the Cardinal's guard. We're to stay out of Richelieu's way until it all settles down."

"It was a good fight," Porthos said, grinning. "They really shouldn't have insulted us."

"Yes. Calling us sons of whores was a mistake," Athos said, pouring a mug of ale.

"Although in my case it wasn't far from the truth," Porthos added. "Not that I'm going to stand by and let anyone say anything bad about my mother."

"Quite right. Then, of course, they compounded their mistake by accusing you of cheating at cards."

"Which was true," d'Artagnan remarked.

"Just because something's true doesn't mean you have to let them get away with it. I was just in a mood for a fight."

"You're always in the mood for a fight, Porthos." Athos looked around the yard. "Have either of you seen Aramis?"

"Not since last night. He had an engagement with a young lady," d'Artagnan said with a smirk.

"He knows better than to be late. Treville won't be happy. Any idea who she is?"

"He didn't say but it isn't like him to spend the whole night with his latest conquest. He usually comes back to the barracks to sleep."

"We should check his room." Athos led the way to the sleeping quarters and knocked on Aramis' door. When there was no answer he pushed it open and looked around. "He was definitely here. Look at the bed."

"He can't have gone far," d'Artagnan said. "Maybe he's in the stables."

They returned to the yard to be greeted by one of their comrades. "There's a boy outside says he has a message for Porthos," he said.

Porthos raised an eyebrow and walked over to the child who looked to be no more than ten years old. "I'm Porthos."

"Flea told me to come get you," the boy stammered. "She said it's important."

"Flea?" Athos asked. "Is that the woman from the Court of Miracles?"

"She and I grew up together. We'd still be together if she'd agreed to leave that hellhole. What does she want with me?" he asked the boy.

"She said to come quickly."

"I can't leave my post. Tell her I'll come and see her in a couple of days."

The boy opened a sack he was carrying and awkwardly hauled out a pistol. "Flea said you'd recognise this," he said.

Athos grabbed it before Porthos could move. "This belongs to Aramis." He frowned severely at the child. "Where is our friend?"

"I don't know nothing about him." The boy started to tremble fearfully. "I swear. I've told you everything she said.

"I'll tell Treville," Athos said. "Then we'll all go."

"Just Porthos."

"He's right. I'm accepted there. You saw how hard it is for any outsider to get in when you came for me."

"If anything has happened to Aramis I won't let your friendship with this woman get in the way."

"Let me go and talk to her. I'm sure we can work this out."

"I hope so, but we all know Aramis wouldn't voluntarily give up his pistol."

"Stay here. I'll be back as soon as I can."

Athos waited until Porthos had moved out of earshot. "Follow him, d'Artagnan. See what you can find out, but be careful. I am going to speak to the Captain."

D'Artagnan nodded, his mouth set in a grim line. "We'll get Aramis back."

"Yes, we will, and anyone who gets in our way will be made to pay."

Tbc


	2. Chapter 2

**The Court of Miracles**

**Chapter Two**

The rope bit into Aramis' wrists, pinning his arms firmly behind his back. He wriggled his fingers, which had become unpleasantly swollen and numb. All his efforts to break free had been fruitless and he had eventually accepted that he was trapped and helpless. They'd locked him in a dusty room filled with broken furniture. If he had been able to get loose there were plenty of makeshift weapons he could use. There was only one window, high in the wall. He could just catch a glimpse of the sky which had turned from dark to the pale pink of dawn.

The hood hadn't been removed until he was inside so he wasn't sure where he was. He had a suspicion, though, that he was in The Court of Miracles. Three months earlier he'd killed the 'King' when Charon had tried to stab Porthos in the back. Was this retribution? It didn't make much sense as a theory. If they'd wanted him dead they could have killed him easily when they attacked him. He spent some time brooding about possible motives, giving up when his head began to throb. He looked up expectantly when he finally heard the key turn in the lock.

"On your feet." The leader of his kidnappers entered the room with two men.

"Why?" Aramis stayed where he was, with his back resting against a wall.

His answer was a hard kick to the right knee. He stifled a gasp of pain and squirmed further away. The man followed, his boot again connecting with Aramis' leg. "Alright!" It was clear that any defiance wouldn't be tolerated and he had no wish to provoke the man to further senseless brutality. "Where are we?" It wasn't easy to rise with his hands tied. He pressed them against the wall, using them as leverage to climb to his feet. His knee gave a twinge of protest.

"You'll find out soon enough. Get moving."

They shoved him towards the door. As soon as he stepped outside he knew that he was right about his location. "The Court of Miracles," he said. "Why?"

No more information was forthcoming as he was led through the maze of streets. Nowhere did his plight evoke any sympathy. Curious looks, disinterest or outright hatred were all he saw. The Court had been steeped in poverty and despair on his last brief visit to rescue Porthos. Since then the conditions seemed to have worsened. Men, women and children looked on the point of starvation with emaciated arms and legs and sunken faces. He couldn't imagine what it must have been like for Porthos to grow up in this hell-hole of misery and violence.

He was pushed into a large room with early morning sunlight streaming through the large windows. Dust lay everywhere and danced in shimmering motes in the air. A woman sat on a throne-like chair set on a slightly raised dais.

"Kneel."

That was asking too much. Aramis resisted their efforts to force him to his knees. The struggle was brief. A blow to the back of his legs caused his knees to buckle and he crashed to the floor. Pain shot through his already injured knee. He sucked in a sharp breath but made no sound. This wasn't the time to show vulnerability. He was struck a couple of times around the back of his head and shoulders.

"Enough."

He raised his head when the woman spoke. She looked familiar and he frowned when he realised who she must be. "You're the one who helped Porthos."

"I've known him a long time."

He studied her closely. There was a sharp look to her features and he found that he couldn't read her mood. He formed the impression that she was a woman who didn't smile often, although he saw no hint of cruelty in her. "What's Porthos going to think when he finds out you've kidnapped one of his friends?"

"We'll find out soon enough. I sent him a message."

"What do you want?" He tried to ease the pressure on his sore knee by shifting his weight.

"The Court is dying. We need help."

"You could have just asked."

"It's not that simple." She narrowed her eyes. "You're hurt?"

"It's nothing," he lied.

"Cut him loose, Thierry."

"He's dangerous," Thierry protested.

"He can't escape and, despite what people think, we're not animals."

A knife slid between his wrists severing the rope. He stood up grateful when no-one tried to force him back down. His knee began to spasm. "Thank you." He rubbed his wrists, suffering through the pain of returning blood flow to his fingers. "What happens now?"

"We wait for Porthos."

TMTMTM

Porthos rode as fast as he could through the growing mass of people on the street. As he got close to the Court he noticed an unusual number of the Cardinal's guards patrolling the area. He stopped, dismounted, and tried to blend into the crowd. The last thing he needed was for them to question why a Musketeer was entering the worst area of the city. He sidled down an alley until he came to the unofficial boundary of the Court. Eyes, seen and unseen, followed his progress. He could feel their animosity like a living thing but strode fearlessly toward his destination. He hadn't been able to come up with a motive for Flea to have Aramis taken and that worried him but he'd find out the reason soon enough.

His route into the 'throne' room was blocked by two men. He growled at them to get out of his way. A third man walked through the door and stared at him with a sneer. Porthos' fingers itched to connect with that arrogant face. His nerves were tightly wound and only violence would release them.

"Surrender your weapons," the man ordered.

"Never going to happen," Porthos replied. He stood with his legs apart and his hand on his sword, ready to fight.

"Clearly you don't care about the life of your friend. You enter unarmed or he dies."

"How do I know he's here?"

"You'll just have to trust me," the man said smugly.

Porthos grimaced sourly and began to disarm. "I want these back when I leave," he warned.

When he entered the room his first thought was to look for Aramis. He found him immediately, standing at the side of the room with a knife at his throat. He appeared unharmed, which came as a relief. Porthos knew too well the kind of men who lived inside the Court. He gave his friend an encouraging smile and turned his attention to Flea.

"What have you done, Flea? Let him go."

"Hello, Porthos."

"I'm not in the mood for games." For all his bravado, Porthos was worried. They were deep inside the Court, surrounded by armed and dangerous men and women. Fighting their way out wasn't an option and launching an assault would require the help of a small army. Long before they could reach Aramis he would likely be killed.

"You think this is a game?" Flea stood up and walked towards him.

She moved in the seductive way he remembered, slowly like a graceful predator. He had to remind himself sternly that this woman was responsible for the abduction of one of his closest friends. Now wasn't the time to become distracted.

"Porthos, my friend, perhaps you can find out what is going on." Aramis' words choked off when the knife pierced the skin of his neck causing a trickle of blood to soak into his shirt collar.

"Well?" Porthos said, his tone imbued with all the fury he felt at Aramis' treatment. Flea was close enough to touch, looking at him sadly.

"We need money."

"I don't have any money. You know that. Besides, what good would a few coins do you?"

"The King and Cardinal want to destroy the Court. You saw what happened with Charon. He was paid to blow it to pieces along with everyone who lives here. Since then the Cardinal's men patrol constantly. Anyone caught leaving is arrested and hauled off to jail. It's almost impossible to bring in food except through the sewers. We're starving, Porthos.

"What do you expect me to do about it?"

"We've heard word of a wagon carrying taxes from all the farms and villages outside Paris. It would be enough to let everyone leave here and start a new life. We want you to steal the money and bring it here."

Porthos laughed in surprise. "You're crazy."

"Not crazy. Desperate. How much does your friend mean to you?"

She waved a hand toward the man holding Aramis. He pressed harder on the knife eliciting a pained groan from the captive Musketeer.

"Leave him alone," Porthos shouted.

"He'll be safe as long as you do what I ask."

"Why not send your men?"

"It's easier for Musketeers to get close to the guards. Who'd suspect the King's soldiers of plotting to steal the tax money?"

"The penalty for highway robbery is death."

"Then you'd better make sure there are no witnesses."

No matter how hard Porthos tried he couldn't think of a way out of this mess. He couldn't stand by and watch Aramis die and couldn't be in any doubt of Flea's sincerity. "You hurt him and I'll hunt you down. Our friendship is over."

"I won't have to hurt him if you do as I ask."

"Porthos. Don't…" Aramis stiffened as the knife went deeper. It wouldn't take much more pressure for the sharp weapon to do permanent damage.

"We'll get your money," Porthos said, "and then you get out of my life forever."

With a final anguished look at his beleaguered friend he turned and walked away.

Tbc


	3. Chapter 3

**The Court of Miracles**

**Chapter Three**

Porthos was angry. It wasn't rational in its intensity and only blood would assuage its potency. No-one threatened one of his brothers without dire consequences. He took back his sword, shoving the man who had held it against the wall. Although it was hard, he didn't dare to lose his control any further, not while Aramis was in the hands of thieves and cutthroats. He pushed his way through the crowd of people who had gathered to watch, taking no care for their well-being. Men…women…all were fair game for his fury.

Only the children were safe from his almost insane rage. It was only when he saw a boy and girl no more than five years old that he came to his senses. Their large eyes bored into his soul with a desperate need.

The girl stretched out pitifully thin arms. "Help us," she whispered, her eyes filling with tears.

He wanted to reassure her but what could he say? There was no help that he could offer. He turned away feeling guilty even though he had done nothing wrong. Memories of his own childhood, long suppressed, overwhelmed him. He'd been about the age of those children when his mother died. She'd been looking after him the only way she could, working the streets. One night she hadn't come home. An artiso who thought it was amusing to come to the slums to take his pleasure had been too rough, throttling her beyond hope of resuscitation.

He'd been too young to understand but not too young to have a highly developed sense of self-preservation. He'd grown, thriving on his ability to fight and steal. He'd been no better than those now holding his best friend for ransom. Along the way he'd met Flea. She was wild and beautiful and he'd been besotted with her. Charon too had become a friend although Porthos had never really trusted him.

If he'd stayed he would have become one of the rulers of the Court but he wanted more. After enlisting in the Army he'd begged Flea to go with him. He'd been determined to leave the Court behind. She'd been equally determined to stay. In the end his urge to find a better life had been stronger than his love for her. Now his past was having a deadly impact on the present and the lives of those closest to him.

No-one troubled him on his way back to the more civilized streets of Paris. He stopped to look back once, wondering how Aramis fared. He had been so busy brooding that he was no closer to a plan to rescue his long-standing friend. The one consolation was that he didn't have to do this alone. Athos, d'Artagnan and Captain Treville would help find a way.

On his way back to his horse he caught a glimpse of d'Artagnan and changed his route to intercept the young Gascon. "What're you doing here?" he asked.

"Making sure you got out alive. Did you see Aramis?"

"I saw him." Guilt surfaced anew. He'd seen his friend and left him in dire conditions.

"Is he alright?"

"He's got a few bruises. Other than that he didn't look hurt. We weren't exactly given the time to talk." He hoped that was the truth. There could have been other unseen injuries.

"What do they want with him? What will it take to get him back?"

"I'll explain once we get back to the garrison."

TMTMTM

The knife wasn't removed from his throat until word came that Porthos had left the precincts of the Court. When the grip on him lessened Aramis irritably pushed away the weapon and stepped forward. As soon as he moved he became acutely aware of the pain in his knee. It felt hot and he had no doubt that it had started to swell.

"Porthos is right. You are crazy," he said to Flea, ignoring the sounds of protest from the others in the room. "They aren't going to steal the King's taxes for you."

"Then you die," Thierry said coldly.

"Porthos is loyal," Flea said. "He will do anything to save his friend."

That was what concerned Aramis. Although he didn't believe his friends would accede to the blackmail he firmly believed they'd risk their lives trying to rescue him. He loathed this feeling of helplessness and would never forgive himself if anyone was hurt because he'd been careless. There was only one possible solution. He had to escape.

"Lock him up," Flea ordered. "Don't hurt him unless he resists."

Aramis deliberately exaggerated his limp as he was dragged away. It wouldn't do any harm to make them believe he was suffering from a more severe injury. He would use any opportunity to deceive them into underestimating him. Despite Flea's orders he suffered further blows to the head and one particularly vicious punch to the lower part of his back. He bit his lip to stop any sound of distress from escaping, unwilling to give them the satisfaction of knowing he was in pain. They clearly equated him with the Red Guards who had been making their lives even more miserable and were taking out their frustrations on his body while he was helpless to fight back.

He was taken to a different room. It was no larger than six feet wide by ten feet in length. All it contained was a torn and dirty mattress, a bucket for his personal needs and a single candle. After lighting the candle Thierry handed him a cup of water and a chunk of mouldy bread.

"Make the most of the food. It's all you're getting and it's no worse than we've been eating for weeks."

Aramis could feel compassion for the suffering of the denizens of the Court even if he couldn't condone their attempts to drag the Musketeers into their problems. He said and did nothing to inflame the situation further. He would await his chance and take any opportunity that came his way. Once he was alone and free from their abuse he rolled up the leg of his breeches to examine his knee. As he'd suspected it had become puffy and tender to the touch. He gingerly felt his way down the muscles and tendons on either side. The kicks hadn't been of sufficient force to damage the bones but that didn't make the injury any less serious. He drew in a sharp breath when he reached a particularly painful spot on the outer side of his leg, just above the knee joint. He ripped a length of material from his shirt and wadded it into a ball. After dipping it in the water he unravelled it and tied it around his leg, hoping that the cold would help to reduce the inflammation. It was, he knew, a forlorn hope but he had to try to prevent his knee becoming stiff and slow to function. Only rest and cold compresses would allow the injury to heal and rest wasn't an option. Not until he was safely back with his friends.

TMTMTM

"The King is rapidly losing patience," Richelieu said, fixing the Captain of his guards with a gimlet stare.

"We're doing our best," Captain Verdun protested. "It isn't easy."

"I'm sure that will mollify the King," Richelieu said sarcastically. "You were given the task of clearing out the Court of Miracles yet it is as active as ever."

"It's like a rat's nest," Verdun said. "We've arrested dozens and killed a few but more come along to take their place. We've tried to stop them getting food and they get past us by using the sewers. We don't have enough men."

"There is one sure way to kill rats," the Cardinal said thoughtfully.

Verdun looked uneasy. "We can't use poison. There're children in there and the men won't have anything to do with killing children."

"How sensitive of them," Richelieu sneered. "The brats will just grow up to be every bit as bad as their parents." He studied the stoic expression on Verdun's face and sighed. "Very well. I will procure something that will cause illness, not death. It should be easy enough to lace the food with it. Once it takes effect your men can attack during the night and put an end to this problem once and for all. I promised the King that the Court would be dismantled by the end of summer and I'm a man of my word. I'm relying on you to make it happen."

"Yes, Eminence." Verdun gave a deep bow and left his master's presence.

Tbc


	4. Chapter 4

**The Court of Miracles**

**Chapter Four**

"Well?" Athos demanded the minute Porthos and d'Artagnan entered Treville's office. Waiting for news had been agonising and all his muscles were tied in knots of tension. His natural pessimism had plagued his mind with a multitude of disastrous scenarios while the urge to drown his concern in several bottles of wine had become almost overwhelming. It was only the calming presence of the Captain that had kept him sane.

"He's alive." Porthos dropped his hat and gloves on the desk, stretching to work the kinks out of his neck. "They're holdin' him for ransom."

"How much do they think we can pay to get him back?" Athos asked. As a Comte he had resources not available to the others. Although they weren't unlimited he would give every sou he had to get his brother back safely.

"They want the tax money comin' from the regions."

"That's never going to happen," Treville said.

"Then he dies," Porthos stated flatly. "Flea told me they need the money to leave the Court. Richelieu's grip is strangling them."

"I don't care about their motive," Athos said angrily. "How do we get him out of there?"

"You've been there," Porthos said. "You know how dangerous it is. We won't get twenty feet inside the boundaries without getting' our throats cut."

"We can't leave him there," d'Artagnan interjected passionately.

"He's safe enough for now. They won't harm him while he has value."

"Captain, give us a troop of Musketeers. The residents of the Court won't be any match against that number of highly trained soldiers," Athos begged.

Treville looked at Porthos. "You know how things work there. What would happen if we launched a large-scale assault?"

"Aramis would be killed before we could get close," Porthos replied in frustration. "We don't know where they're keepin' him and the streets are like a rabbit warren. We'd lose men, that's for sure, and he wouldn't want us to sacrifice anyone else to rescue him."

"What about the sewers? Surely we could use those to get inside," d'Artagnan said.

"We could, but the problem of findin' him remains the same. There're hundreds of men in the Court, every one of whom would kill us without a second thought"

"You make it sound hopeless," d'Artagnan shouted. "We can't just abandon him."

"That will never happen. We need to approach the problem from a different angle," Athos said thoughtfully. "Porthos, I want you to go back to the Court. Tell this woman that we will accede to her demands but only on condition that you can see Aramis again. It's not unreasonable for us to ask for proof that he still lives. Find out all you can about where they're holding him. You were close to her once. Get close to her again."

"I can do that."

"Tell Aramis to be ready. He knows we will come for him."

"What about us?" d'Artagnan asked.

"There must have been maps drawn of the sewers and the Court before the area was overrun by pickpockets and cutthroats. Our job is to find them. The key to any successful campaign, d'Artagnan, is planning. We will get Aramis back safely." Athos turned to Treville. "Do we have your permission to proceeds, Captain?"

"Do whatever is necessary. Be careful, Porthos."

"Thank you. Well, gentlemen, we know what we have to do."

TMTMTM

Men and women eyed Porthos warily as he strode confidently though the streets. The first thing he'd learnt as a child was never to show weakness. That's what made you a victim and he'd sworn that would never happen to him. He was a predator and proud of it. He reached the building where Flea held court and was challenged for the first time by two men. He recognized one of them as a former friend. "Let me in and I won't have to kill you," he said.

"You don't frighten us."

Porthos lashed out with his right fist, catching the man on his jaw and knocking him back into collision with the wall. At the same time he drew his knife and spun to face the other guard. He dropped into a fighting stance and beckoned the man forward. The sweet thrill of violence brought a fierce grin to his face. "Come on, Sevarin." They'd grown up together on the streets but now Sevarin stood between him and his objective. That made them enemies. He was almost disappointed when Sevarin retreated, allowing him entry.

He kept an eye on the man until he was sure that there would be no sneak attack. He shoved his knife back into its scabbard and walked into the building. The only people he found in the 'throne' room were Flea and Thierry. He felt an unexpected surge of jealousy when he saw how close they stood to each other. "I'm not here to cause trouble," he said hurriedly.

"Why have you come back?" Flea walked toward him, swaying her hips in a way that made him catch his breath.

Despite the fact that she was responsible for Aramis' plight he could feel his body responding to her. His mind flashed back to the last time they had lain together and, not for the first time, he wished things between them were different. He would have been proud to have her on his arm if only she had been prepared to leave her old life. "I wanted to see you again."

"Liar," she said without rancour, stopping just out of reach. "Do you have an answer for me?"

"We'll do what you want but first I want to speak to Aramis." He met Thierry's glower with a hard stare. "We need proof that you didn't slit his throat the minute I left."

"I have your word that you won't start anything? Flea asked.

"My word as a Musketeer."

She looked over her shoulder at Thierry. "Fetch Aramis."

"You can't trust him," Thierry growled, his hand drifting toward his sword.

"Yes, I can. I've known Porthos a long time. His word is sacred."

After Thierry left Porthos pulled over a chair and sat down. "When did you become so hard?"

"I learnt my lesson when Charon died. No-one can be trusted. Then, when the Cardinal tightened his net and people began to starve, I knew I had to be as ruthless as him to survive."

"The girl I knew would never threaten to kill a man in cold blood."

"That girl's gone, Porthos. The weak don't survive here."

Porthos was keeping a mental tally of the time taken to bring Aramis. It would give him some indication of where his friend was imprisoned. "You were never weak. I think you were always the strongest of us all."

"You always were good with the flattery," Flea said with a smile.

Porthos heard voices approaching and stood up, ready to defend himself if necessary. He was completely unprepared for the fury that swept over him when Aramis limped into the room. There was a darkening bruise on his friend's face and his eyes were screwed up as if he was in pain.

"What have you done to him?" he yelled, taking a threatening step toward his former lover. "Look at him!" He'd never before had the urge to strike a woman and the effort to control his emotions left him shaking.

"It's nothing, Porthos," Aramis said. "Bruises heal." His hands had been bound in front of him and Thierry had a firm grip on his arm. The strain of walking on his injured leg had caused him to feel light-headed, but he didn't want to inflame the situation any further. He'd been surprised to be hauled from his prison and unprepared for the vitriol of the populace and the casual brutality of his guards. He knew if he admitted any of that to Porthos they would find themselves in the midst of a bloodbath that could only have one ending.

"I want to talk to him," Porthos demanded. "You owe me that at least."

"Very well." Flea looked as shaken as Porthos felt by Aramis' condition. She gestured to Thierry who moved away reluctantly

"Why did you come back?" Aramis asked. "It isn't safe."

"Flea won't hurt me. How do you feel? Tell me what they did to you."

"I made a mistake. I should have been more cooperative." That was far from the truth. Aramis now realised that he would have suffered the abuse even in the absence of any resistance. There was no humanity left in the Court and he was a symbol of every actual or perceived wrong done to its inhabitants.

"How bad is it?"

"Bad enough. I can't walk far and I don't think I can run," Aramis admitted.

"We're workin' on a plan to free you," Porthos said in a soft voice. "Where are they keepin' you?"

"No!" Aramis grasped his arm. "It would be suicide for you to try and rescue me."

"We're not leaving you here. Now, tell me."

"It's complicated," Aramis said reluctantly. "Turn right out of this building, walk past two alleyways and turn left into the third. Keep going until you reach a tavern. It has no sign so I don't know its name. The building is about fifty yards behind it. They have a guard on the door and there are no windows so it was probably once used as a storeroom."

"We'll find it."

"That's long enough," Thierry said, yanking Aramis backwards. "Whatever you're plotting is a waste of time."

Aramis hissed in pain as the sudden movement jarred his knee. He didn't try to resist as he was hustled out of the room although he did twist round to get a final look at his friend. Porthos looked ready to commit murder.

"You take care of him," Porthos said to Flea. "I'm trustin' you to make sure he isn't hurt any further."

"He will be well treated but don't think I won't kill him if you betray me."

"I know better than to doubt you," Porthos said. He wanted to believe that she wouldn't carry out her threat but he only had to look into her eyes to see that the woman he had loved no longer existed.

Tbc


	5. Chapter 5

**The Court of Miracles**

**Chapter Five**

It had started to rain. Fat drops of cold water quickly soaked Aramis to the skin and plastered his hair against his skull. The streets had cleared of people although an emaciated dog slunk along the alley seeking shelter. Each step he was forced to take sent a spike of pain through his swollen knee. Despite that he was pulled along mercilessly until he cried out in agony.

"Keep moving." Thierry cuffed him around the head.

"Stop," Aramis begged breathlessly.

He was yanked forward again and his foot slipped on the rain slick cobbles. The jarring pain in his knee was more than he could bear. He bent forward and vomited. Dark spots danced in front of his eyes and he realised that he was dangerously close to passing out.

"Pathetic Musketeer," Thierry snarled, hauling Aramis upright.

Aramis squinted at his captor while his stomach roiled incessantly and his head pounded. "Give me a minute." His weakness embarrassed him and he felt as if his pride had been trampled into the dirt of the street. Then he thought of his brothers, knowing that he had to remain strong. He spat to clear the foul taste from his mouth and raised his head to meet Thierry's impatient gaze. "I'm ready."

For the remainder of the short journey Thierry allowed him to move at a slower pace. When they reached the door to his prison Aramis felt a sense of relief. Once he had been untied he hobbled inside and the door slammed shut. The candle had gone out, leaving the room in impenetrable darkness. He carefully felt his way around the wall until he found the mattress. He sank down, whimpering in pain and curled on his side. His damp clothes felt icy cold against his skin, causing him to shiver violently. The pain and chill conspired to prevent sleep. He lay in total misery, trying to formulate a plan to escape.

TMTMTM

"The bastards have beaten him," Porthos snarled the minute he met Athos and d'Artagnan at the barracks. "He can barely walk."

"That's a worry," Athos said. "He won't be able to do much to help facilitate his escape." He squelched his desire to head straight for the Court and exact retribution for the pain caused to his brother. Precipitous action would only result in their deaths. He had been well schooled during his childhood and it wasn't difficult to keep his emotions hidden inside although he suspected that Porthos was not fooled.

"He'll find a way," d'Artagnan said, full of youthful and naive zeal. His feelings were all too clear, written across his face. He was furious and chafing at the delay in launching a rescue attempt.

"Did you find anything out?" Athos asked.

"I think I know where they're keepin' him. Did you bring the maps?"

Athos removed two large parchments from a leather tube, unrolled and spread them on the table. D'Artagnan used tankards to anchor the corners to keep them flat.

"The plan of the sewers is accurate," Athos said. "The one of the Court might not be but with your knowledge I'm sure we can figure it out."

Porthos moved a lantern closer and gazed intently at the map of the Court of Miracles. Then he turned his attention to the sewers. He used a finger to trace one of the lines, muttering under his breath. His brow was furrowed as he sought to mentally overlay one set of plans with the other. He nodded his thanks when Athos handed him a glass of wine but didn't raise his eyes from the parchments.

"Here." He pointed to a spot almost in the centre of the Court. "That's where he is."

Athos came to stand beside him. "It looks like the nearest exit from the sewers is two blocks east. That's still a lot of ground to cover without being seen. We'll wait until it is dark and, if it keeps raining like this, we'll have cloud cover as well. If we meet resistance will Aramis be able to fight?"

Porthos shook his head. "He's badly hurt although he was tryin' to hide it. I bet he could still use a pistol though."

"I think we want to avoid making too much noise. D'Artagnan, it's your job to look after Aramis. Porthos and I will take care of anyone who gets in our way. We'll enter the sewers here." He indicated an opening close to the banks of the Seine. "It's far enough away that we shouldn't be noticed. We leave a midnight. I suggest we all get some rest this afternoon. It's going to be a long night."

TMTMTM

"Flea! Good news," Thierry called.

It was early evening. The short winter day had ended in a persistent downpour that had kept most people inside their houses. Flea pulled her shawl tighter around her body and thought longingly of a warm fire. "What is it?"

"Two carts of food. The soldiers must have been sheltering from the weather because there was no trouble getting them through the blockade."

"That's wonderful." For the first time in days Flea felt her heart lighten. She had never wanted the burden of ruling over the Court but, after Charon's death, people had started to look to her for leadership. "Make sure it is fairly distributed and that the children are taken care of first." She heard a few ragged cheers echoing around the quiet street. News had spread quickly. "Keep a guard on the carts. We don't want any trouble." With people desperate for food there was always the potential for fights to break out.

"My men will see to it. I'll bring you something later."

"Don't worry about me," she said, even though her stomach was so empty that it was prone to cramping. "Look after the children," she reminded him.

It had become increasingly difficult to see the hunger and despair on the faces of the children. That was the only reason she had agreed to Thierry's plan to blackmail Porthos and his friends. She felt true remorse for sanctioning Aramis' abduction and fervently hoped that Porthos would deliver the tax money. In her heart, though, she knew that he would not and that he would be working on a rescue plan. It was an insane gamble on her part and she feared it would lead to the death of the man who could have made her happy if he'd agreed to stay. She loved Porthos but she loved the Court and its inhabitants more.

When she reached her small house she surveyed her meagre stack of fuel. There was only enough coal and logs to see her through the night. She would not be the only one with that problem. It wasn't only hunger that was their enemy. Cold was a silent and insidious killer. She quickly made a fire and sat on the floor in front of the hearth. The heat thawed her frozen fingers and toes and the flames cast garish shadows on the walls. She gradually relaxed and slid into a pleasant stupor in which the harsh reality of her life faded away.

TMTMTM

"Well, Cardinal, do you have news for me?" the King asked. He was sitting comfortably in a padded chair sipping a glass of exceptionally fine wine.

"Everything is going according to plan, Sire. The tainted food has been delivered to the riff-raff in the Court of Miracles and my men are in position. We will wait until tomorrow to attack. That will give the poison time to work."

"I'm not sure I approve of your methods," the King said. He had eaten an early supper and felt pleasantly replete. "They might be criminals but there are still my subjects."

"Subjects who wouldn't hesitate to overthrow you if they had the chance." Richelieu looked meaningfully at the flask of wine and the King gestured for a servant to pour another glass.

"Sit down, Cardinal. We should discuss what we are going to do with the Court once we have taken possession of it."

"Raze it to the ground," Richelieu said, savouring the wine. "This is a very fine vintage, Your Majesty."

"What a pity we don't own the land," the King said. "I don't suppose you can do anything about that?"

"I am already working on it. The present owner will bankrupt himself paying the death duties on the estate. I have made it known that you would look favourably on his situation if he were to sign over the deeds."

"Excellent work as always, Cardinal."

"Thank you, Sire. May I enquire as to the health of the Queen?"

"She is well. She has withdrawn from her day to day duties on the advice of her physicians. In two months we will be welcoming an heir." The King smiled broadly.

"Indeed." Richelieu placed the delicate goblet on a table. He still had his suspicions about the paternity of Anne's child but it would do no good to throw out an allegation that he couldn't prove. And, he had to be mindful of the secret known to the Queen and those meddlesome Musketeers. If the King ever found out he'd been behind the assassination attempt he would be lucky to escape with his life. "If you will excuse me, Your Majesty. I have a great deal of work requiring my attention."

"Of course. I can always rely on you, Armand. Whatever would I do without you?"

"Let us hope you never have to find out, Sire."

Tbc


End file.
